


Before dawn

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: A yuletide treat, Breakfast, Dog-dads, Domestic Fluff, Hogswatch, M/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Sleep Deprivation, canine fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21936778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: For the prompt: some domestic downey/vetinari fluff. probably talk over together meal?In which Lord Downey is horrified by crimes against fashion and too sleep-deprived not to react, Lord Vetinari peacefully drinks tea and their dogs have a nice time.
Relationships: Lord Downey/Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Before dawn

After a night of catching up with his paperwork and reading over the essays the students had turned in on how to poison various Heads of Guilds, mythical creatures and other folks of note, Lord Downey made his way down the dark streets of Ankh-Morpork for a very early breakfast with Lord Vetinari.

In fact, it was so early that most people would have said that it was still night-time.

But Downey had learned that it was often a much better use of his time to push on until he’d crushed the exhaustion that threatened to drown him during the mornings when he’d not slept instead of napping for an hour or so.

Both his dogs were deeply pleased with his decision to go on a walk, wagging their tails and sniffing the air. He’d dressed them sensibly in designer pull-overs with festive holiday embroidery so that they would not catch a chill, a few dog-treats in the pockets of his own warm and very stylish black coat.

It was almost Hogswatch, so he’d been contemplating what kind of dog toys to get them for weeks now, unwilling to settle for something that would be destroyed in five minutes. Better to have the toys custom made.

Downey kept walking, leashes in one hand and cane in the other.

Meeting for breakfast in the middle of the exam season had become a tradition of sorts over the years. Slipping inside the Patrician’s Palace before dawn was common enough for Downey that the Palace Guards just nodded at him, muttering to each other about the lord keeping odd hours and the need to get a head start to the day.

It had become easy to sit down with Vetinari in his office, where a hot cup of tea was waiting for him alongside a bowl of fruit salad.

This time the fruit salad had peaches and raspberries on top of the finely chopped apples and pineapples slices.

“Good morning, my lord,” Downey said, lingering in the doorway as the Patrician sat down at his desk.

“Good morning,” Lord Vetinari said, nodding. His face was paler than it had been yesterday and he’d leaned much more heavily on his cane. Perhaps the pain medicine he’d taken had not kicked in yet, or it was a particularly bad morning.

Downey did not see any traces of makeup on Vetinari’s face to mask how tired he looked, even if his hair was neatly brushed and the scent of soap lingered in the air.

“Do sit down,” Lord Vetinari continued when Downey just kept staring at the fruit salad like a man that had not eaten in weeks.

It was not an order.

It was a request.

Downey sat down in the chair as Vetinari sipped his tea, looking too peaceful not to be planning something. It was safer to aggressively stab a piece of pineapple with his fork rather than to ask about anything at all when his mind was still reeling with lists about how much work he still had to finish.

Stacks of essays and exams loomed in his mind.

“Your dogs are well-dressed,” Vetinari said after a while as Downey had stolen some toast from a plate and was dipping a delicate spoon into a jar of honey. “The purple knitted pullover is very stylish.”

Downey looked to the right, where his dogs were playing with Mr. Fusspot. The little dog was wearing a gold coat that glittered in the first rays of the sun.

“Did the Postmaster try to steal your dog again?” Downey asked, watching as Mr. Fusspot made a baffling series of noises at the other dogs.

“He succeeded for long enough to go on a walk to purchase the gold coat,” Vetinari replied, eating the white of his egg.

That was fine. Downey understood eating boiled eggs for breakfast. What he did not understand was eating dry toast. He eyed the rest of the toast on the dish with suspicion before deciding to focus on something else much more disturbing.

“That coat is a crime against fashion,” Downey said as golden glitter fell off Mr. Fusspot’s coat and dirtied the floor. “Please tell me that you have something else for him to wear.”

“There is a sack next to his basket,” Vetinari answered, leaning back as if to watch a show when Downey stood up, putting the honey jar down with a determined clink.

Downey took a moment to be grateful for all the dog stylists on the Disc as he rummaged around in the sack until he found a soft green coat that did not hurt his eyes to look at.

“This will keep you warm,” he told Mr. Fusspot, who tried to lick his face as Downey busied himself with the buttons.

Then he stuffed the gold suit into the sack, because burning it in the fireplace would have been rude.

Mr. Fusspot wagged his stub of a tail and joined Downey’s dogs in the large basket, where they all made themselves comfortable in a big heap.

When Downey sat back down to finish his salad, Vetinari was tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk with a pleased look in his eyes as the dogs snored loudly in unison.

“Thank you for the food,” Downey said as he wiped his mouth delicately, having just finished eating.

Vetinari hummed, putting down his fork.

“I’d ask you to stay a while if you weren’t so busy,” he said as Downey took a long sip of tea.

“Hm,” Downey replied, aware of just how red his eyes were, how sluggish his movements probably were. “I wouldn’t want to fall asleep on you, so that might be for the best.”

“When was the last time you slept properly?” Lord Vetinari asked, pouring himself more tea.

“Wednesday?” Downey said after some calculations.

That had been when Vetinari had outright handed him some freshly washed nightshirt after he’d wandered around the Guild with Downey and joined him for their regular talks over very expensive coffee. Then the man had made himself comfortable in Downey’s bed with a paperback novel and his secret silver reading glasses perched on his nose while Downey washed his face, cleaned his teeth and put on his nightshirt.

“It is Monday morning,” Downey continued, looking at his empty teacup.

Lord Vetinari leveled him with a look of a man who only regularly got around four hours of sleep a night, napped in between appointments on a fainting couch with his lapdog in his arms and slept sitting down in his scorching bath.

“Get some sleep, William,” Vetinari said.

“As you wish, my lord,” Downey replied, resisting the urge to rub at his eyes. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Thank you for the visit,” Lord Vetinari said. “Don’t let me detain you.”

Downey made his way home, his dogs enjoying the frosty air after their nap. He managed to get a full six hours of sleep, waking up at around ten to find that three stacks of essays had been fully graded and comments added in a familiar handwriting.

And two wrapped gifts had appeared on his desk, addressed to his dogs.


End file.
